


Hot in the Oven

by MiriamKenneath



Category: Original Work
Genre: Creature Inside, Fairy Tale Elements, Horror, Other, Witches, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 11:17:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20527145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/pseuds/MiriamKenneath
Summary: A tale (not quite the same one you're used to!) of a witch in the wood and her magic gingerbread cottage.





	Hot in the Oven

You live deep in the wood in a magic cottage made of sweets. The roof is tiled with marzipan and caulked with white frosting; the door and windows are cut from clear lollies. The walls are gingerbread.

The common people of the village like to say your magic cottage is meant to tempt unwary travellers to gluttony. They like to say that it’s a trap. They remind their little boys and girls not to stray too far into the wood. If you aren’t careful, they say, the witch will catch you, bake you into a pie and eat you.

Your pies are to die for, and children are fat and juicy, it’s true. Yum.

But the villagers misunderstand certain fundamental things about you and your magic cottage.

_It’s been too long. You will need to eat again soon_.

You’re beating the dust and cobwebs from the fairy floss curtains this morning. You pause your labours momentarily to shrug. ‘Fresh meat doesn’t grow on trees, you know,’ you say.

_Alas. This is beyond my abilities_. A pause, and then, _I’ve finished freshening up the eaves. We have new liquorice gutters installed_.

‘Sounds lovely,’ you say. ‘I’m sure it smells heavenly.’

_You need to eat._

You yawn. You do tire easily, unfortunately. Perhaps a short nap is in order? You make your way to your bed.

Your magic cottage worries overmuch; you aren’t concerned yet. There’s plenty of time. The two of you can afford to lay in wait.

And in the meantime…

You spread your legs wider, and your fingers are like raptor talons as you grip the edges of the mattress. You toss your head and moan as the pleasure threatens to consume you. You don’t know how or why your magic cottage does what it does, or if it is even properly a magic cottage at all or some other fell, eldritch spirit that has taken possession of it, but whoever or whatever it is, you’ve never had a better lover. You’re one damned lucky witch.

So what if the oven in your kitchen is cold? You and your magic cottage have a bun in a different ‘oven,’ and you can hardly wait until it’s done.


End file.
